A Different Meeting
by Hope-Hazard
Summary: Sherlock and John meet in a slightly different way. Very slight AU. Based off a gif set from Tumblr. Link to gif set in fic.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was walking down the street, brows furrowed as he looked for any clues on his case. He was paying just enough attention to his surroundings to avoid hitting any pillars, or running into tables, but that apparently wasn't enough to stop him from bumping into another _person_. He turned around to see a blonde man wince and grab his shoulder.

"Whoa, watch where you're go—" He looked up and cut off as he made eye contact with Sherlock. His eyes widened just slightly, and Sherlock could see his pupils grow larger. "Um…" He cleared his throat and looked down quickly.

Sherlock laughed to himself and tilted his head to the side quizzically. "Are you flustered?"

"No," the man scoffed, and started walking away. Sherlock smirked a little and easily fell into step with him, keeping his body turned towards the shorter man.

"You're clearly flustered. Reddened cheeks, even slightly dilated eyes," he noted.

The man suddenly stopped, his face heating up. "What are you, some kind of detective?" he snapped.

"Yes, actually," Sherlock replied easily. He held out his hand and said proudly, "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Only one in the world."

All he got was a skeptical smile. "You're a detective? Yeah, sure."

Sherlock frowned a bit and straightened up. "You're an ex-army doctor, sent home after receiving some sort of bad wound, most likely a shot to your shoulder considering how you held it after I bumped into you," he said in a bored tone, looking him up and down to see if there was anything else he could learn.

The man's eyes widened with surprise. "Bloody hell," he said in a breathy chuckle. "That was amazing." He finally outstretched his own hand, introducing himself. "Doctor John Watson. Nice to meet you, Detective Holmes," he added as a tease.

Sherlock took his hand with a faint smile and a puzzled look. "Please, just Sherlock. Did you just say 'that was amazing'?"

"Well, yeah, it was. I mean, you took one look at me and were able to figure out all that. I call that amazing," John shrugged as though it were simple. "Do people not normally say that?"

"No, they don't."

"What do they normally say?"

"Piss off." John just looked at him for a second, and then laughed lightly. He glanced at his watch and gave Sherlock an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, but I'm running late. But, uh…" His cheeks colored a little as he pulled out a little notepad and pen, and scribbled on it quickly. "Here's my number. Give me a call sometime. I want to see if you're really a detective, or if I'm just easy to read." John looked at him hopefully as he held out the sheet of paper.

Sherlock took it and in a matter of seconds had the phone number memorized. "Yes… I'd like that. I know a good Italian restaurant. We could have dinner."

"That sounds great," John nodded with an excited smile. "Alright then. Talk to you later." With that, he hurried off, glancing back at Sherlock only once. Sherlock just stood there and watched him leave, slightly dazed. Once he was gone from his sight, Sherlock snapped back to his senses and went back to working on his case… But not before getting his phone out and adding one Doctor John Watson to his contacts.

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**Based off of this.  
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	2. Chapter 2

John checked his watch for the umpteeth time that hour. _Hour. _Had it really only been an hour? It sure felt like a lot longer than that. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been excited for this date, but after texting back and forth with Sherlock for over two weeks, this was quickly proving to be very anticlimactic.

A nice Italian restaurant, semi-secluded booth, nice-smelling candle—should be a recipe for romance. But apparently of the things John had learned Sherlock was good at, being romantic wasn't on that list. Aside from greeting John outside of the restaurant and placing his order, Sherlock hadn't uttered a word. Just stared at John for the entire time. John had tried to make conversation a few times, but all attempts failed when Sherlock just made vague humming sounds. And as if the silence wasn't enough, the staring was starting to get creepy. John had wiped at his mouth to ensure nothing was there, so he had no idea what Sherlock could have been looking at so intensely.

Finally, after finishing his meal, John cleared his throat and started to gather his coat. "Well, this was an, um… _interesting_ date, but I should probably get going. Thanks a lot, Sherlock." He smiled politely before smiling and walking out. As he started down the street, pulling his jacket closer around him as protection from the cold, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He had really hoped things would work out with Sherlock.

Suddenly, there was a hand gripping his wrist, forcing him to stop and turn around. "Sherlock, what—"

"I apologize," Sherlock sighed. "I realize now that that wasn't the most interactive of dates, but you have to understand that I've never attempted anything like this. My few relationships were brief, in university, and altogether not very romantic or personal. This is new territory for me."

John looked down at where Sherlock's hand was still holding onto his wrist, though it was now loose enough that John could pull back if he wanted. John found he really didn't want to. "Then why are you trying so hard now?" he asked, giving Sherlock a puzzled expression.

Now that John didn't seem to be going anywhere, Sherlock relaxed. His head tilted as he studied John. "I honestly don't know. That's what I was attempting to figure out in the restaurant. It can't be because we're overly similar—your intelligence is average, and we discussed not two days ago that you are not musical."

"I'm not _nearly_ as good as you at complimenting others," John added sarcastically, pulling free of Sherlock's hand. Sherlock's face fell, and he looked as though he considered grabbing John again, but thought better of it and let his hand fall to his side.

"I just told you I wasn't good at this," Sherlock muttered. "I don't go around attempting to 'flirt'." John smiled just slightly at Sherlock's almost pouty face.

In an attempt to make up for pulling away, John teased lightly, "Well, I can tell you your first problem. Flirting requires talking." The joke went over Sherlock's head, though, and he sighed heavily.

"I already apologized for being silent through dinner. Must I repeat myself?" John stared a few seconds, not sure if Sherlock was serious at first. Then he laughed and shook his head a little. "What?"

"Nothing. Just—you. Unintentionally funny. You should have just talked to me, you know, instead of thinking so much."

"You wouldn't have walked out?" Sherlock asked, as though the idea was ground-breaking.

"No," John smiled kindly. "Definitely not."

"I see…" Sherlock gazed at John thoughtfully for a few moments. "You're still looking for a flat, correct? You mentioned something a few days ago," he suddenly asked.

"Yes," John answered warily. He briefly thought back to the conversation—he had really only made an off-hand comment the one time. He was surprised Sherlock remembered.

Sherlock's tone changed to one of intentional casualty. "I have my eye on a rather nice one in central London. Two bedrooms, a decent sized kitchen. Only one bathroom, unfortunately, but it's nice. It's actually only five minutes from here. I can't quite make rent on my own… You're welcome to come with me and take a look, if you would like."

John narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but a small smile crept onto his lips. "I can't tell if you're actually asking me to come move in with you, or if this is just your way of trying to get me into bed."

"Please," Sherlock scoffed. "If I wanted you in my bed, we would already be there."

"Is that so?" John chuckled. "You're awfully confident."

"I have reason to be," Sherlock smirked minutely. "But, back to the matter at hand—this is a genuine offer. You obviously don't have to move in as my significant other, but I need to find a flatmate, and you are my preferred option."

"You've known me all of two weeks, and you would rather have _me _move in than some other friend?" John raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I don't have any other friends," Sherlock said simply.

"Oh…" John bit his lip briefly and looked back down the street. He could say no. He could make up something about already having one in mind. He didn't _have _to go with Sherlock… But he didn't want to go anywhere else. He looked back at the detective and reached for his hand. "Five minutes, you said?"

Sherlock's face immediately broke into a grin, but he quickly tamed it and nodded. "Yes, just a short walk." Squeezing John's hand for a second, Sherlock turned and led him towards Baker Street.


End file.
